What They Didn't Know
by SylverSpyder
Summary: A series of short one-shots about the many secrets of Tony DiNozzo
1. Chapter 1

What They Didn't Know

As he stepped out of the elevator, prepared to face whatever his teammates had to throw at him, Anthony DiNozzo slid one hand into his pocket. It was meant to look cocky: the handsome, brazen Italian Agent striding in, completely relaxed as though his heart wasn't just as broken as the car that lay in ashes or the burnt corpse inside it, the corpse that should have been him... They didn't know. They didn't understand. It should have been him. Instead a poor faceless bastard was lying on Ducky's table. And Tony was jealous. He hated the rancid feeling that rose like bile in his throat. If it had been him, like it should have been, Jeanne would still... He swallowed hard, his mouth still more dry than his eyes. He blinked hard, the slick tears even harder to hold back as his fingers brushed something in his pocket. The feel of the soft velvet covered box made him catch his breath. It was meant to be perfect. He had been willing to give up everything for her, just to wake up with her in his arms, to spend his life with the woman he loved. The woman he would have died for. The woman he had lived for. Swiping one hand across his eyes, Tony pulled his hand from his pocket as though it were burned. Squaring his shoulders, he plastered on a grin.

"Hey my car blew up this morning. Did you do that?" As if his car was the only important thing he had lost...


	2. Excerpt From RESPECT

I don't own Vance, I don't own Tony, N.C.I.S. is not mine, and this is not a true story. This is not real life or real canon. That's why it's called FAN FICTION.

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><p>The phone clicked down against the receiver and Leon Vance sighed, kneading his forehead. That damn DiNozzo again. Leon reached into his desk with one hand, fumbling at the drawer. Even under interrogation, he would never own up to the bottle of scotch that he couldn't seem to locate at this moment…<p>

Vance opened his eyes just as there was the thump of something hitting the floor. He frowned and opened his eyes, glancing down at what appeared to be a file. A puzzled frown made lines appear between his eyebrows as Leon tried to find the source of the file.

Reaching under the drawer he had been tugging at, his hand brushed something that didn't belong. His frown grew. A small paper fragment came loose in his fingers. Realizing that the file must have been wedged underneath the drawer, his curiosity made him reach for the file without thinking, but a single look at the title stopped him.

Not just the words themselves, though those were enough, but the handwriting… Jenny Shepherd's handwriting. For a moment, he stared disbelievingly at the name, then he groaned. Anthony DiNozzo could even haunt him in his own office, a place with some of the best security in the country, through the words of a woman long dead. Well dammit, if he was going to let it bother him either way, he might as well read it. He flipped open the file.

Agent DiNozzo,  
>The agency would like to cordially request you reconsider your earlier decision to decline the available position of MCRT team leader in the Rota office in Spain. Your credentials exceed the majority of other applicants and your unique predicament along with your security clearance would make you the prime candidate for this position as well as put you in the perfect position to command overseas black ops in the Mediterranean area. Due to your political experience, you would also be qualified and in the position to liaison on Navy and Marine operations in Europe and the Middle East. NCIS recommends you take immediate advantage of this offer, in the interests of yourself and this agency.<br>Signed,

(Secretary of the Navy)

(Director of NCIS)

Attached document:

Dear Tony,  
>I'm not speaking officially with this, but how do you like Prada? With the Rota job, you'll be getting a new experience somewhat like how I got my start on the pathway to director. I really hope you take it. There are few other people I would consider telling this to, but you are my prime decision for a candidate for the director's position in a few have all the force of Gibbs, the character of James Bond (I knew you'd appreciate the reference), and better diplomatic skills than them both. Your damn good, and I know you know it. I think you should take the Rota position, Tony. SecNav does, too. Yes, I made him aware of your unique skill set and credentials. I think Gibbs will understand if you chose Rota. You can have three more days to reconsider.<br>- Jenny

Vance paused, his hand outreached over the page. Rota? Jenny offered DiNozzo Rota?

There were a few more lose pages and then something that caught his attention, something he had a feeling wasn't meant for his eyes.

"Classified," the sheath of papers said.

For a moment an absurd wave of guilt washed over Vance. But surely as Director of NCIS, he should know what his people had been up to… And it's not like DiNozzo could have a clearance higher than his.

A pit of guilt in his stomach stopped him just before he was about to open it. Setting the file down beside his desk, Vance reached once more for the Scotch and filled his glass. With each sip, he treasured the burn of the alcohol as it went down.

While he drank, he reached for one of the loose papers that had been next to the Rota offer.

He began to read, slowly forgetting the scotch that he still held in one hand.

It appeared Agent DiNozzo had been keeping secrets.

He had come to value the man for some of his skills in the past few years, but this?

This time, Vance felt no guilt or hesitation when he grabbed the rest of the loose papers and flipped through them.

F.B.I. (Really, Fornell?), C.I.A. (Trent Kort? He thought Kort hated DiNozzo?), N.S.A., the N.C.I.S. office in Brazil, the Secret Service?

They were job offers. All of them. All of the agencies offering jobs to one Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo of N.C.I.S.

Vance's brows furrowed.

Then a post it note from Jenny caught his eye.

Tony,

I can't say I regret your decisions (we all need you here), but maybe you should at least look at some of these offers instead of stashing them away in your desk. I know what you told Cynthia, and she's not going to hide the offers from me, no matter how many times you ask. I'll understand if you take one of the jobs. Some of them get better pay than I do! I will say that we would miss you if you did. The fact that you haven't, well there's a selfish kind of happiness for us all there. More than we need you though, we want you to be happy. Do what makes you happy, Tony. I'll always wish I had.

Jenny

Vance felt his shoulders tense. "Jenny?" "Tony?" Who was this person? The Tony DiNozzo he knew had a few skills, namely putting up with Gibbs and doing halfway decent undercover work, but the N.S.A.? The C.I.A.? Vance pushed back a bit of resentment he was harboring. N.C.I.S. hadn't been his first choice of agencies. There was a reason why the F.B.I. always got credit on the news. Vance had been marooned with N.C.I.S. Yeah, it was probably one of the most successful agencies in crime solving, but men Vance's age were Senators and Congressmen, faces everyone knew. Vance had aimed for a post in the F.B.I. many years ago. And now this post had been offered unconditionally to a certain Anthony DiNozzo, and he had turned it down!

There was something Vance was missing, something he couldn't understand in all of this.

So when he reached for the confidential file, at this point he was certain he would not be surprised. What could confuse him, mystify him, even further about the irresponsible playboy he so easily dismissed?

He was wrong.


	3. Secrets

_I don't own NCIS- been watching since the first season, though_

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><p><em>"Aht lo leh-vahd<em>"

He was smarter than they thought. Sometimes, it pissed him off when they just didn't notice things. So many small clues, little slip-ups. A small part of him yearned to admit that sometimes he did it on purpose. Just once he wanted to break his cover. Seriously- the Hebrew... Three times now he'd spoken to Ziva, called out in her native tongue, and she never put two and two together. They were convinced he didn't speak Spanish no matter how many times he hinted. Jenny knew. She knew a lot more than anyone. And a lot less than she should. Still, she offered him Rota. She knew about the Spanish. The Italian? Well, that was fairly simple. The Family insisted. And it had proven useful- at times. The suits? Raised in an extremely proud family and somehow everyone seemed to forget that it wasn't just Senior's Italians. The British Paddington's held traditions with great fervor. He was raised privileged. Then his mother died and her family money was held until his twenty-first birthday and his goddamn father manipulated the courts and had him disowned at twelve. The softer way of saying emancipated. The military boarding school... that had been the compromise. Stash him away from prying eyes. He earned his way. When his birthday came- well, his dad had tried to dip into it, but when Tony was emancipated, he lost his access. It was a nice little nest egg... DiNozzo hated it. He bought his suits with his own money, hard earned. And a phys ed degree? Required advanced anatomy classes and a hell of a lot more than everyone seemed to assume. And he never said that was his only degree. People preferred idiots, though. No one, not even his team guessed. The piano playing, the singing... All the movie quotes? Sometimes an eidetic memory was useful. Then again, Tony thought of Kate. The bullet entering her brain through her skull, powering through the frontal lobe, and blowing out the back, scattering blood and brain matter- part of the desiccated hippocampus, no doubt, across the barren rooftop, into the face of Tony Dinozzo, sealing the scene forever in his was so much more, so very much more, than they saw. Sometimes he felt the secrets would destroy him.

But sometimes, the times that were the most important, he knew that it was his secrets that made him stronger. And that was what was important.


	4. The Tattoo

I don't own NCIS

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><p>McGee never asked Tony how he knew about Abby's love of tattooed asses. Maybe he should have. Kate had one. Tony nearly puked when he saw it on her cold corpse.<p>

Tony stood next to Abby as he surveyed the Probie. "If he hurts you, I'll kill him and use your lab supplies to destroy the evidence."

"Tony?"

"Yes, Abbs?"

Fingers studded with rings of metal and leather snaked their way between DiNozzo's.

"I don't think it will get that far. His was okay, but yours was much better."

"The ass or the tatt?" Tony questioned, catching on.

Bright red lips pulled back in a grin. "You choose."


	5. Conman

I don't own NCIS

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><p>His father never remembered it, never would. But Tony did. He remembered all of it. As a child, movies were his escape. He could fall into them. Be the characters. And maybe- just maybe- if he could feel their pain and fall in love with them, somehow, they could love him, too. Alcoholics often have a history of black-outs. Tony just prayed for the moments he passed out. And the moments he could feel he was loved- wanted.<p>

His mother had wasted away to an early grave. His father didn't seem willing to do the same.

The one time the old man almost left him, almost freed him, he was ten. But he couldn't do it. So he turned Senior on his side before he could asphyxiate and sat there just watching him breathe.

The two things conman Anthony DiNozzo Sr. regretted stealing most of all were both from his son. He robbed him of his childhood and took his love. If only Anthony had been less sensitive, more bitter, Senior could have handled being hated, but Tony, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, loved his father. He loved him despite everything. And that, that was the worst con of all.

And so Senior lived, but a little part of Anthony died.


	6. Getting the Boat Out

_Getting the Boat Out of the Basement_

I don't own NCIS- nor do I profit from it.

He didn't have a basement.

Well, technically he didn't.

But his apartment building did.

Tony DiNozzo sat cross-legged on the dryer as it shook underneath him, a micro-carving tool in his one hand and a wood block in the other, a block from which a sailing ship was rapidly emerging.

He squinted in concentration, eyes narrowed to thin points.

The vibration of the dryer added to the challenge.

He had been serious when he told McGee to pick up gun and wood-working magazines. It might not help with small talk with Gibbs (_and Gibbs never really does small talk, not if he respects you at all, McGeek should know that_), but it sure was therapeutic.

He hadn't dared to suggest sewing though, he remembered as he contemplated the color he would make the sails.

It would ruin his persona, no matter how helpful the tip was.

After all, bullet holes in expensive suits didn't fix themselves- and he may have inherited the Paddington fortune, but habit was habit. (_He had sewn his own Halloween costumes every year, even though he knew his father would lock him inside and burn his candy if he did escape to trick-or-treat. The astronaut suit had been his favorite. He'd figured, if he had to dress like a sailor for his mother, he deserved at least one day to dress like_ his_ dreams. Nowadays it wasn't an issue, though. He dressed like his dreams every day, and Senior couldn't stop him._)

Besides, this way he wouldn't forget to carry old Mrs. Brock's laundry upstairs before passing out (_he was getting too old for 48 hour shifts_); his elderly neighbor just didn't know when to ask for help, and he didn't want to come home to her fallen on the stairs again.

_Sound familiar, DiNozzo?_ Gibbs' voice echoed in his mind. He smiled, for more than one reason. Mostly because he knew how to get the boat out of the basement, but also because he knew that, as stubborn as he was, Gibbs would never accept help doing it. Not unless help _just happened_ to show up on time.

He whistled while he carved.

It would take a magnifying glass for most people to see it, but '_Kate_' was the name decorating the prow.

Gibbs and Mrs. Brock weren't the only ones with trouble asking for help.


End file.
